


Insurmountable

by iridescentmusings



Category: Pentatonix, Scomiche - Fandom
Genre: PTX, Pentatonix - Freeform, Scomiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentmusings/pseuds/iridescentmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'insurmountable'<br/>adjective<br/>ˌɪnsəˈmaʊntəb(ə)l<br/>"too great to be overcome".</p><p>-----------</p><p>In which Scott and Mitch try to survive in a barren, broken world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insurmountable

Soft, as if not wanting to draw attention to himself, a man sung to the one he loved. The notes hung in the air for several seconds before fading away into nothingness, and another man -the object of his affection- watched, encaptured by the sound. Next to a birthmark splashed upon his neck like a fallen freckle, there was a smudge of dirt, yet this did not detract from his overall appearance in the slightest. Some of the hair from his fringe shifted and fell down slightly, stopping when his long lashes gave it cause for halt. As the strand rested lightly there, shrouding part of his eye, he needed only to blink ever so slightly, and it would be out of his view. Yet, he let it stay there for a second as he continued to sing. The second passed, however, and he brushed aside the obstruction of his vision.

 

And the beautiful sound stopped. Not abruptly, nor cut off. Instead, it diminished in volume slowly, painstakingly so, as the song came to its close.

 

It seemed perfect, for those few shining moments. The two of them were seated upon worn leather, opposite sides of a booth in a retroesque looking restaurant. In one corner of the table was scratched the message 'Sally + Mindy', and around it, as if to protect the words from the rest of the marks in the wood, was a crudely carved heart. A simple thing such as that was enough to bring a soft smile to one man's face -the other hadn't noticed it, situated as he was on the other side of the table-, and the idea of mentioning it aloud was briefly entertained before being dismissed. No moment so beautiful could last long without being destroyed.

 

Next to a plastic vase, placed slightly off the centre of the table, there was a small shard of glass next to a menu with a peeling laminated cover. Perhaps -to an outsider, someone new to the world in which they lived- that would be the first of many signs that something was wrong. Though, perhaps 'everything' as opposed to 'something' would be a better description. A single petal fell from the dead flower in said vase, browned and crinkled, tarnished by time. It made a soft sound when it impacted with the wood of the table, too soft to be heard by either man. "Happy Anniversary," one murmured to the other, breaking the silence that was only held between the two; all around them, sound was roaring in its intensity.

 

The two of them were, in fact, sitting at the only intact booth in the small establishment. An expression, that the room 'looked as if a grenade had gone off in it' came to the younger man's mind. In the times in which they found themselves, such possibilities shouldn't really be discounted- perhaps explosives truly were the cause of the restaurant's state of disarray. Every other seat was broken in some way, caved in by a heavy weight or simply viciously ripped apart. The counter hatch, once always swinging as it was pushed past by waitresses bearing trays laden with drinks, was torn from its hinges. It lay several feet away, partially concealing a large bloodstain on the wooden floor.

 

In a sudden motion which shocked the both of them enough to cause their knees to knock awkwardly together as they jumped in tandem, a woman ran into the room. Brown hair which had once been long, had once, long ago, been blonde, then fell only midway down her neck, cut messily into some rough approximation of a bob. During a fit of anxiety as to whether her hair, long at the time, would lead to an untimely demise by way of it being grabbed and therefore detaining her, she’d hacked most of it off with a carving knife. It’d had time to grow out since then, but she still kept it short. “We need to go, now!” she apologised without halting, turning around and heading back out of the restaurant’s front door, and the two men ran with her, having already stood up rapidly in reaction to her, sadly, anticipated appearance. They both knew that anything calm or good in their lives would not -could not- ever last. And so they’d been subconsciously tensing their muscles for the entirety of their time spent together, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

 

Over twenty of them were heading towards the three survivors who were hurrying into the open -and otherwise deserted- street, the two men close behind their brunette friend. “Where are the others, Kit?” Mitch enquired, brown eyes darting around their surroundings, as if he were a skittish animal, as they ran.

 

“Out back,” she replied in between pants of breath. “Avi's starting up the car and Kevin's getting more ammunition in case we need it.”

 

“We shouldn’t, though,” Scott determined, his breathing somewhat steadier than Kirstie's as, although fitter than she had ever dreamed of being before the world as they knew it collapsed around them, she was still not in his league in terms of athleticism. Mitch had once been physically weaker than any of their group, his fitness akin to that of a newly born fawn, stumbling into the harsh light of the world. Yet, like them all, he’d had to adapt; had he not, he would be dead. One could hardly argue that he was muscled, however, merely toned.

 

"I know we shouldn't, in a best case scenario, but since when have we ever gotten anything but the fuzzy end of the lollipop?" Mitch interjected. Even amid the destruction, with around two dozen abominations of nature making their way towards him and his two companions, he still had time to reference a 1950s musical, which was quite telling of his demeanor.

 

Scott recognised the near quote, though it passed Kirstie by, yet he didn't feel the need to comment upon it. Instead, he made some small noise of agreement as they continued to run from their pursuers. Turning the corner, the trio saw Avi and Esther moving in their direction swiftly, his bag no doubt filled with bullets and a gun already in her hands. Despite none of them vocalising it, each felt a shock of relief pass through them at the sight, a sensation familiar to them as it was one that was experienced every time they were reunited with one another. After all, each knew that when they parted, it could be the last time that they saw each other alive. Nothing was certain anymore, not since the global epidemic that had wiped out billions, and the resultant desolation that followed.

 

As expected, the bearded man handed over ammunition to each of them when they halted their run. Without missing a beat, Scott had reloaded his weapon and began firing precise shots at the mass of shambling bodies who had followed them into the street, Esther doing the same at his side. The car was parked at a gas station, and Kevin was refilling it with the last vestiges of fuel from the pumps. From an alleyway leading onto the road where the small group was situated, more of them emerged and began their shuffling journey towards the group. "Fuck." Mitch remarked in response to the sight. "Guys, we seriously need to scram. Like right now."

 

"Agreed," Avi replied, beginning to make his mark upon the swarm. "But we need the fuel. Because you guys' little date was cut off by a horde of biters, we haven't had time to fill up the tank. If we're going to have enough to get out of the city, we need to wait a little longer."

 

Kirstie, already firing into the mass, nodded, both acknowledging and agreeing with his statement. Mitch followed her lead and started doing the same, cutting down their pursuers one by one. A stray bullet missed its target and instead hit a drinks can left on the low wall bordering a drab-looking house behind the horde. Consequently, an explosion of fluid sprayed in every direction, jaundice-yellow droplets splattering onto the bloodstained ensemble of figures. The sight of the artificially coloured liquid caught Mitch's eye, and he watched as it impacted with the side of one rotted face. Beneath the blood, dirt and general grime smeared across the decomposing cheek, the moisture left a path which revealed grey skin.

 

"Mitch!" Scott shouted suddenly, and the smaller man saw with a shock that one of them had nearly reached his side while he watched the other corpse stumble towards them. He hurriedly shot it down, and felt rather than saw his lover slump slightly in relief. "Don't do that, Janet, it scares the hell out of me!" he reprimanded.

 

"I'll be fine, Fiona," Mitch retorted, his mind once more focused on the task at hand rather than the smaller details. There was something soothing about the normality of them calling each other female names, and it brought a small smile to both faces, though neither allowed the distraction of thinking upon it much. They knew the stakes of the game all were playing with Death, and were well aware of how the odds were stacked against them. It was evident to them that their struggle for survival was a losing battle, but they continued to fight, hoping for a few more precious moments in each other’s company.

 

“Guys, we’re set!” Kevin yelled, breaking the group out of their reverie of gore and gunfire, letting them know that it was time to leave ‘fight’ and turn to ‘flight’. Kirstie turned instantly, her legs carrying her quickly back to the car, as it was her turn to drive. The sounds of her footfalls were lost among the groans of the mass of undead. By the time Mitch and Scott had caught up she was sitting behind the wheel, buckled in and ready to go. Her petite hands rested lightly on the steering wheel and, though the two men couldn't see it, her foot was poised to get the car moving as soon as they were all in. It took them a second or two to notice that the siblings had not reached the vehicle, a realisation brought about by a scream of terror.

 

Swinging around, Scott saw his friend trying to pull Esther from the clutches of two undead, one male and one female, whose hands were grabbing at her leg. She didn't appear to have been bitten by either, not yet, and Scott ran to her aid, Mitch close behind. The tall blond's heart beat furiously in his chest at the terror he always felt when his friends, any of them, were in grave danger. Obviously all situations before that moment had ended either in death or in survival. Until then, Esther had always come out on top, but the situation the two men were nearing looked less and less likely to end well. A mouth filled with rotting teeth, in between which were stuck strips of decaying flesh, was descending upon her leg and she seemed unable to prevent it, despite her and her brother's best efforts to free her from the grasp of four clawing hands.

 

Any hope which had still mixed with the sense of despair running through them; they were just too far away to be of any use in time, was dashed to the concrete when Avi let out a cry of anguish, his deep voice cracking with pain. Blood spurted from the fresh wound in a crimson fountain of lost hopes and forgotten dreams. Esther fell to the ground, soon to be consumed; another one of them had already sunk their rotting teeth through her skin. She screamed, a piercing sound which was as good as ringing the dinner bell for hundreds of undead who were no doubt nearby.

 

It was no easy feat for Scott to hold Avi back. Yet, it was a task far preferable to the one which then fell to Mitch, who would have had no hope of restraining the other man. He did what had to be done, yet he would never forget the murderous glint in Avi's eyes. The glare in his direction, as if Mitch had been the cause of his sister’s death when he had only been the humane end to a process brought about by an abomination. He still felt like a heartless killer when a shot rang through the air, followed by another to finish off the dead who aimed to feast upon her remains. He still selfishly wished that someone else had done the deed. Anyone but him. However, in their world, wishing got you nowhere.

 

A second passed, and Scott let his friend go. The remnants of the horde of dead had begun to crawl and climb over their fallen comrades, and Mitch knew that it wouldn't take long before they were upon them. "We need to go." he stated, an echo of his former self. The urgency was still there, an underlying note to his tone, yet he tried not to make it seem quite as obvious. Avi was shaking, unstable both physically and mentally. Scott grabbed onto Mitch's hand and made as if to run, assuming, evidently, that Avi would follow suit. Mitch could tell from the set of the broken man's jaw that it wouldn't be so. "Come on, Avi," he prompted gently. He reached out to lay a hand on the man's shoulder, a gentle action not befitting of the circumstances; over thirty of them were headed their way. Avi hissed, shying away from Mitch's touch as if it burned his skin through the shirt he wore. "Avi," Mitch continued, "I'm sorry, but we need to get out of here!"

 

"No." he replied, levelling his weapon with the head of a walking corpse and shooting it down. "No; I'm not leaving until every one of these things is dead!"

 

"Avi-" Scott began.

 

"NO! Do you not understand? They _killed_ her, Scott! Those things killed Esther, and-" his voice cracked, and he sunk to the ground as if in an action demonstrative of his grief. However, his descent was not voluntary.

 

From behind him as he fell, Kevin sighed. "I'm sorry I had to do that, man," he apologised to the unconscious man on the floor. “But it had to be done.”

 

It was the truth, for Avi’s grief-stricken cries were attracting more of them, and he seemed unlikely to compliantly get into the car and drive away. Once back at the vehicle once more, Mitch nearly went to open the back door to grant quick access to the third row of seats, only to then realise that it wasn’t needed. There was no sixth member of their party, and so Scott merely propped Avi up against the left back door, Kevin in the front next to Kirstie as they drove away.

 

Mitch’s fingers slipped through Scott’s and linked them, his petite hand dwarfed in comparison to his lover’s. Their gaze met, pain echoed in both clear blue and rich brown eyes, then flickered away. The smaller of the two stared determinedly forward, brightly white teeth gnawing at his lower lip as he staved off an onslaught of tears, preferring to save them until night time. Then, at least, he could entertain the pretence that the other six- no, five, couldn’t hear him as he sobbed into the fabric of his sleeping bag.

 

Scott attempted no such illusion of indifference, the liquid representations of his emotional agony streaming down his cheeks as he studied his, albeit hazy, view of the roadside. If he had been forced to describe the feelings coursing through his person in that moment, Scott would have had to compare them to the physical torture of having his heart forcefully torn from his chest, hacked out with a blunt carving knife. Next, he’d depict said organ being flung to the floor -yet still somehow feeling-, and stepped upon by a thousand heavy-footed travellers, all the while still sending frantic messages to his brain, begging him to stop, please stop as they drove away, leaving it trodden into a bloody smear in the dust. And still it would beat.

 

Esther had been his best friend, had. Mitch didn’t count in the same way as, though admittedly his closest friend and confidant, he was also his lover and so had a status above best friend, leaving that place to Esther. And although he was very close to all those around him who had survived thus far, nothing and no one could come close to replacing the friendship he’d had with Esther Kaplan.

 

After at least thirty minutes had passed since their departure, Avi woke up. The rest of the car was alerted to this when, with a panicked yell of “Esther!”, he tried to open the vehicle’s door in a state of confusion. Luckily this attempt, due to the car moving at a speed which rendered him unable to, didn’t succeed. It did, however, seem as if he would have welcomed death with open arms. In less than an hour, Avi had been diminished to a mere shell, a shadow of the man he once was. That in itself, even without the reason for said change, was depressing to the vehicle’s occupants. Avi had always been the one of them to keep up morale, invariably finding some happiness despite the scenarios in which they found themselves. Nonetheless, it seemed that he had been pushed too far. No more would he serve as the light keeping away the unconquerable darkness that their lives had become.

 

However, there seemed to be more to the emptiness in his eyes. Not just the irrevocable anguish, something else- a sense of inevitability. Scott could see this, yet was unable to determine what it was that seemed inexorable to the bearded man from a mere glance. His train of thought was snapped abruptly a second later when Avi murmured just loud enough for them all to hear. None could help feeling weighed down by the heaviness of his tone as he pleaded “Kill me,”

 

“No, Avi.” Kirstie responded absolutely.

 

“I know that it may not seem like it right now,” Mitch supported, “but there is still  _so_  much to live for.”

 

“Seriously, guys,” Avi retaliated, his voice nearly blotted out by tears, which were freely running down his cheeks. “you need to. I was about to tell you before I was knocked out,” he explained, and pulled up the flannel sleeve of his dark red shirt. The material had been a colour of absolute camouflage for the blood seeping through it. Beneath, two crescents; teeth marks. “I’m going to die.”

 

Kirstie pulled over.

 

All twisted in their seats to stare despairingly at the wound on his forearm. The flesh around it had swollen, distorting his skin, stretching it grotesquely. He was holding his arm up carefully to stop the blood flowing freely from the bite from touching anything around him. Something in their saliva, like the parasite they were, stopped the blood from clotting; consequently, he was still bleeding half an hour after the injury had occurred. Like tracks trying to lead away from his ineluctable demise, black spiderwebs of veins surrounded the teeth marks. The blood itself seemed to be darkening towards eventual sable blackness.

 

Kevin poured water over the wound to wash away the blackening gore, and Scott towelled the skin dry before binding it tightly with bandages to prevent further blood loss. It was merely delaying the inevitable, staving off the unpreventable future for only slightly more time, yet it calmed them slightly. A silence stretched between the five, a quiet which seemed to be something very real and tangible for them all. For Scott, it felt as if he was being enshrouded, suffocated, by the distinct lack of sound, the nothingness sticking to him so intolerably that he wished only to shrug it off, be free of the sensation. Yet, he did not break the fragile silence, did not shatter it into pieces, though he could have with the utterance of a single syllable. That task fell to Avi alone, and the group waited for him.

 

A minute or so later, though it felt elongated into eons for them all, Avi spoke at last. “I’ve still got a little time left.” he stated. It was true; he could probably still live and breathe the last of his humanity for another day, at least.

 

“Yes, you do,” Kirstie agreed, and her voice was thick with sorrow.

 

“I want to dig my grave,” he continued, shocking his friends who had been far from expecting such a proclamation.

 

“Avi, you don’t need t-” Mitch began, yet was cut off by the man he was addressing.

 

“I know, Mitchie,” he responded, the nickname not carrying the usual connotations of happiness that it would usually have done before. “I want to, though,”

 

“Sure,” Scott acquiesced- such casual lexis, yet so heavily uttered. His evident attempt to lighten the situation, his forcedly upbeat tone, they only served to juxtapose their circumstances with the semblance of normality the group had come to know. It was all entirely different, their interactions, their state of mind, their everything. And trying to sweep all of that under the rug of pretence proved a hefty task. Avi knew his time was limited, and they knew that he’d be lost to them before twenty-four hours had passed. They knew, all of them, and yet they did not say.

 

Kirstie, who would have been little use to the effort due to the torrent of teardrops cascading from her brimming eyes, buried her face in Mitch’s chest. He was managing, only barely, not to cry, and let comforting her take his mind off her reason for sadness. Over her shoulder, he watched Avi, Kevin and Scott dig the hole in the ground, using bowls to do so; they didn’t have a shovel on hand. It took a long time, and Mitch stood there holding his friend as she cried tears of loss for a man not yet gone throughout the whole process. Unlike Scott, he had not lost a best friend -a close friend, yes, but not a best friend- in Esther. Kirstie held that spot for him, and her pain was his as such.

 

When, at last, the grave was sufficiently deep, the three men stood up, not one knowing quite what to say. Should they delay the ineluctable, pretend it was just a normal day which wouldn’t end with two having died? They wanted to- at least, four of them did; four of them wanted to stave off killing him until it was an absolute necessity. One, however, and this one was the crux of the matter itself, did not. “I want to die on my own terms,” Avi began, “I don’t want it to be drawn out painfully, and I don’t want to succumb to the sickness. And that’s why I’m going to die today, within the hour, not tomorrow. By then I’d be delusional and out of my mind with pain, and that is not how I want you all to remember me.”

 

They stared at him in shock.

 

“Okay?” he reiterated.

 

“We understand,” Kevin answered for them all. It didn’t mean they had to like it- every moment still theirs with Avi was already going far too fast for their liking. Additionally, the four had just discovered that what little time they had left was to be cut even shorter. It was his decision, however, and they all knew that. “How- how do you want to do this, then?”

 

“Well, I can already feel a headache on the horizon, and that’s one of the signs,” he explained. Mitch gulped audibly, feeling the dread begin to bubble in his stomach. “I’d like to do something first, though,” Avi continued, and when he explained his last wish the rest of the assembled array of survivors finally realised that this was it, this was real, this is the end, his end.

 

Never again would they perform together; a crucial part of their harmony would forever be lacking from thereon out, and none was entirely sure that they would or could be able to sing without too many tears and far too much of an aching, gaping hole in their chest. That was it, his request. He wanted to sing with them one last time before he was rendered unable to ever speak again. And so they sung.

**"All of my life been running, paying the price for living".**

 

Scott sung with his eyes closed, knowing that with the slightest glance in Avi’s direction his singing voice would be overcome by guttural, heart wrenching sobs. As he sung, his mind flitted back without prompt to one particular moment; he’d no idea how or why the memory had been brought to the forefront of his mind.

_They were on a run together, by which Scott meant that they were raiding a supermarket for supplies, not that they had decided to indulge in a little light exercise. It went without saying that the two were the most physically able in the group of six. Luckily for them, the store had been chained shut, a padlock securing the metal links in place. It was something which may not sound good at first, but was in fact somewhat of a blessing in disguise. If they had to break the chain, an action which required more than a basic mental capacity, then the undead, who possessed no such intellect, were unable to get in. Therefore, it was safer than a store met with doors wide open._

**"How do the young survive? We're never satisfied,"**

****

_The car parked directly out front, Avi was mindlessly swinging the keys around his index finger, humming as he surveyed the selection of aisles spread out before them. It seemed as if the area was pretty much deserted for a mile or so around, so they’d gone for less of a ‘hit and run’ approach to the store, choosing instead to take their time and choose food able to sustain six people for long enough for them to reach the next store. Both were pushing shopping trolleys, and he shoved the car keys into his pocket, thus being able to use both hands to steer his around the corner into the tinned food section of the store. Scott followed suit, neither talking at that point. A few seconds later, Avi breached the cloying silence._

_“What’s bothering you, Scott? I can tell that something is, so don’t even bother denying it,”_

_Scott swallowed apprehensively, guarded about the subject for reasons evident to his own person but obviously unclear to his friend. “It’s Mitch,” he offered, seemingly -foolishly- hoping that such an ambiguous answer would satisfy Avi’s curiosity and leave the two absent of conversation once more._

_“What about Mitch, Scott?” he enquired instead of staying silent, as Scott had known he would. Again, he used the other man’s name to add seriousness to the question, and when no reply came, he prompted further. “Finally pulled your head out of your ass then?”_

_“W-what?”_

_“Scott, you’re either being exceedingly dim or you get some kind of kick out of making yourself miserable. Can you not see the way he looks at you? Do you not realise how you look at him?” Avi responded, his tone equal parts exasperation and concern._

_And Scott didn't know what to do, what to say, because his head was reeling with unwanted thoughts and feelings and he just wanted everything to stop, be calm, be still. Yet it would not, and the emotional onslaught, the downpour of confusion, it was weighing him down but somehow lifting him up. He was drifting amidst flashes of brown eyes, brunette hair and white teeth. He was falling slowly, yet surely, when he just wanted to take to the air and fly far, far away._

 

**"Only if I could listen,"**

_With three words, Avi pushed away the turmoil, and the confusion dissipated along with it. Three words, a statement, a fact. "You love him." It was all it took, hearing it aloud._

_He knew._

 

**"When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I run to? When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I hide?"**

But in the real, in the now, Scott knew that they could not run from the inevitable. He was about to die. The man who he owed so much to, the man who had snapped him out of his funk and indirectly made him and Mitch a couple at long, long last had mere minutes left in the world of the living. It felt as if he was drowning in a sea of regret.

**"When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I run to? When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I hide?"**

 

And Mitch, by his boyfriend's side and holding his hand in a death-grip, knew that the both of them would hide in on themselves if they didn't bring the subject of Avi's death up by the end of the day. For though the two functioned best when they discussed matters of sadness, they habitually retreated into a shell of denial and hid there.

**“I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way,”**

 

Next to Scott, it was Mitch whose eyes fluttered closed as he earnestly sung.

**“In the middle of the night, I've been running, running, running and I’m on my way home.”**

 

And soon enough, he also found himself immersed in memory.

_It was summer, and they had long lost any semblance of what the date truly was. However, it was roughly July, they supposed, and so the group had decided that then was the time to throw an impromptu birthday party for Mitch. Due to being out in the open, having camped in a small clearing, they had to be quiet, and kept their weapons close to hand. Somehow, the other five had managed to procure small gifts without Mitch noticing, and pulled them from their bags simultaneously, causing Mitch to jump and reflexively grab at the gun by his side, inhaling a sudden breath and several gnats from the air around him._

_A minute later, Scott stopped whacking Mitch on the back when the smaller man stopped choking on the unfortunate cocktail of small flies and woodland air. “Happy Birthday?” Scott trailed off, struggling to hold back laughter._

 

**“All that imprides of ruin, it's in our design so human”.**

_“Shut the fuck up, Janice,” Mitch spat, tone harsh but eyes conveying his own struggle to prevent himself laughing at his own situation. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you’d just sneezed bugs out of your nostrils,”_

_“Sorry, Samantha,” Scott chuckled. “It’s just too funny,”_

_“Ass.”_

_“You love my ass,” he countered._

**“How do the young survive? We're never satisfied,”**

_“We’re right here, you two!” Esther exclaimed, swatting at Scott lightheartedly._

_“And?” Mitch responded sassily, nuzzling himself into his lover’s side._

_“Presents!” Avi cut in before Mitch could try and embarrass the rest of the group by sharing just enough as to not be considered graphic, but definitely not anything that the others wanted to know. He handed his younger friend a gift wrapped hastily in brown paper, sellotaped rather messily and more than slightly crumpled. Tearing at it eagerly, Mitch caught sight of a flash of silver as an unidentified piece of jewellery fell into his lap._

_“Only if I could listen,”_

_“Is this a bracelet, or…?”_

_“No, it’s an anklet. It seemed very...you,”_

 

The lightweight chain of metal around his ankle suddenly seemed to take on the weight of the world, Mitch’s senses going into overdrive as he continued to sing. They were already much too far through the song for his liking, and the beautifully-crafted harmonies were forming more and more of a sombre funeral march in the man’s mind as seconds drifted on.

 

It couldn’t nearly be over, because that meant that Avi was nearly gone and Mitch was not ready to accept that.

 

But it was.

 

**"When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I run to? When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I hide?"**

It seemed implausible that Avi would be the calmest one among them, and yet it was so. His breathing was calm and steady as he sung his part perfectly. The only difference was his eyes; before they would have glowed with happiness at singing, especially this song. Now, they brimmed with tears, and as he blinked they spilled hotly down his cheeks. His tone did not change, but terror reverberated around his very being, pure, mindless terror.

 

He didn’t want to die.

 

**“I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way,”**

Next to him, Kirstie slipped her small hand into his, squeezing both to comfort him and herself. Somehow, she seemed all cried out from earlier, and so was able to stave off tears while they were singing.

 

**“In the middle of the night, I've been running, running, running and I’m on my way home.”**

****

_“I made this for you, Kirstie”._

_“You dork,” she replied affectionately._

_“What? I was bored, and so I thought I’d give my best friend a token of our friendship,”_

_"Lights go down, where will I run to? Lights go down, where will I hide?"_

_“Who asides from you would decide to make a friendship bracelet?” she joked, already slipping it onto her wrist as she pulled him into a hug._

_“Please don’t die,” he murmured all of a sudden, making her jump at his breath in her ear. “It feels like we could any day, any of us, and I’d miss you so much,”_

_“As long as you’ll agree to do the same, Avriel,”_

_“Don’t call me that, Kristy,”_

_"Lights go down, where will I run to? Lights go down, where will I hide?"_

_“I fucking hate you; my name is not Kristy”_

_“You love me really,”_

_“And you still haven’t given me an answer, Avriel,”_

_“What? Oh, right. I promise not to die,”_

**"When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I run to? When the lights go down in the middle of the night, where will I hide?"**

Avi’s hand still in hers, she stared determinedly forward, trying and failing to channel happiness from the previous times that she’d sung this song. All the wonderful post-concert feelings in the world wouldn’t be able to cancel out her pain.

 

In turn, Kevin was immersed in a memory which was equally unasked for.

 

**“I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way,”**

****

_“So, explain to me how you possibly think I can play my cello like a guitar for this song?” he enquired, fighting back near-hysterical laughter._

_“You can’t?” Avi responded, looking confused._

_“No, you definitely cannot. I’d love to hear how your thought process went, though,”_

_“Well, I thought you could use one of these,” Avi explained, pulling out a plectrum from his pocket and handing it over. Kevin scrutinised the piece of plastic._

_“Oh Avi,”_

_“What?”_

__

**“In the middle of the night, I've been running, running, running and I’m on my way home.”**

_“Okay, come over here and look at my cello. Bring your guitar,” he instructed. They were in the government ‘safe centre’ which had been very popular at the very start of the epidemic. However, the officials had decided about a year later to turn everyone out, as the food supplies were running low and they had scientists to feed. When driving past the centre about two years later, they saw that it had been burned to the ground._

_“Right, what am I supposed to be looking at, Kev?” he enquired, still completely befuddled._

_“Look at the thickness of my cello’s strings compared to your guitar’s. I’d snap that pick within seconds if I tried strumming it on these strings,” Avi looked down, at his guitar, then back at Kevin’s cello._

_“All my life, I’ve been running, running and I’m on my way,”_

_“Right, okay, I was being thick,” he laughed, evidently not offended and choosing to laugh at his own stupidity. “Keep the pick as a token of my foolishness,”_

_“What am I supposed to do with this?”_

_Avi reeled off a list. “I don’t know, make a necklace, a hair clip, learn guitar?”_

_“You utter dork, Avriel,”_

_“Don’t call me that!”_

**“All my life, I’ve been running,”**

Scott’s voice nearly cracked on the last note, as the denial he’d been trying to bury himself was washed away by a tidal wave of dread. It was time, there was no pretending otherwise. It was time, and Avi was taking off the gun holster that he wore around his waist, and he was handing it over to Kevin, some unspoken agreement being made through eye contact.

 

“I guess that this is goodbye, guys,” Avi choked out, the tears that he’d held off while singing bursting through the dam.

 

Mitch was the first to run forward and wrap his arms around his bearded friend. “I love you, Avi. You know that, right?”

 

“Of course I do, Mitchie. Please don’t miss me too much. I don’t want you getting yourself killed while crying over me, okay? Wherever I’d be by then, I wouldn’t be able to stand it,”

 

It was a cold day, and so Mitch wasn’t sure what he should attribute the shiver which ran down his spine. It was as if someone had walked over his grave, and that certainly wasn’t something that he wanted to be thinking about at a time like this. “I’ll do my best, ‘kay?” he replied, unable to stop the moisture in his eyes making the transition to a steady flow which began soaking into Avi’s shirt. “I just wish I didn’t have to do it without you,”

 

Knowing that it would be the last moment he’d ever be able to do so, he hugged Avi as hard as was possible with his distinct lack of upper-body strength. His right arm went over Avi’s left shoulder, an action mirrored by the other man as they held each other tightly, moving from side to side slightly as they held each other for the final time, Mitch’s head ducking onto his shoulder. Mitch’s fingers patted Avi’s back a couple of times, then gripped at it as if trying to pull him away from the deadly virus spreading through his veins.

 

Finally withdrawing himself from the comfort of Avi’s arms, he wrapped his own around his slim frame. Behind Avi, the sun was taking its leave from the sky in a descent of trailing crimson. It was beautiful- even so, Mitch couldn’t appreciate the sight.  By the side of the road where they all stood, attending a funeral for a man not yet dead, he tried to distract himself. The landscape really was stunning, the fields overgrown with weeds and wildflowers a result of years of neglect. Of course they were no longer farmed; it was an apocalypse, after all. Tarmac roads had split under the heat of day, and with no repair they had stayed that way, green shoots sprouting through the cracks.

 

It was picturesque, the way greys, light blues, pinks and oranges blended and merged to form the beginning of the night sky. He couldn’t remember the scientific reasoning behind the sky’s colours, but didn’t need to to be able to see, to observe.

 

A movement out of the corner of his eye, and he switched his gaze to see Kirstie move forward.

 

“Remember that promise, Avriel?” she choked out, burying her face in his chest as he enveloped her in strong arms.

 

“Yeah. I guess I fucked that up, then,” he replied heavily. “But,” he murmured to her softly, so quiet that none of the other could hear, “Please hold up on your end of the promise, Kirst. I know I won’t be around to miss you if you die, but please stay alive for me. Please?”

 

“I’ll try, Avi. That’s all I can promise now,” she offered in reply, aware of the pained tone it brought to his expression. “I love you, and I’m going to miss you so much, you dork,” she sobbed, her voice muffled with tears and the lump in her throat that the tears caused. She simply let him hold her for several minutes, crying into fabric damp with both her and Mitch’s agony.

 

A breath, a pause, and then Kirstie’s voice, smaller than any there could ever remember it being, pleaded “Please don’t leave me,”

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied, for what else could he possibly say in response to that?

 

Kirstie squeezed him tightly one last time, then once more hid herself in Mitch’s arms. “I’ll miss him too,” he murmured, swaying back and forth on the spot with her. “We’ll all miss him,”

 

Everyone reacts differently to death, or the imminent prospect of it, and the small group was no exception. Though Mitch and Kirstie seemed to react similarly, there was a world of differences; she had become angry in her grief, almost blaming Avi for ‘not keeping his promise’. She was devastated, there was no doubt about that, but also angry at him for leaving her, even going so far as asking the impossible, for him to stay. Alternately, Mitch was simply breaking inside, as one would automatically expect someone to be doing as a result of a close friend’s death. A couple of feet away from the two hugging friends, Kevin began to laugh.

 

All eyes, including Avi’s, turned to him, and widened in shock. It was a hollow, crazed sound, his laugh. Kevin himself had no idea why his body was making the sound, and couldn’t stop himself from doing so. Equally, he had no reasoning behind slowly sinking to the floor, yet he still did, wrapping his long arms around his legs and rocking himself back and forth. All the while, he laughed.

 

Mitch broke free from Kirstie and headed to him, reaching out a hand to lay on the other man’s shaking shoulder. “Kev?” he prompted, lightly touching his jacket. At the point of contact, Kevin’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and Mitch gasped reflexively at the emptiness in his eyes. He’d no idea what to do to help the insanely cackling man, and so he knelt down and hugged him. Kevin just kept rocking and laughing, rocking and laughing. In the background, Scott was saying his goodbyes to Avi.

 

With his back to the rest of the group, Mitch wasn’t prepared for the sound that the knife made when it sunk into the back of Avi’s head. By the time he’d managed to steel himself enough to turn around, which was well over a single shaking minute, Avi was lying in his grave.

 

Kevin’s shock-caused laughter suddenly stopped so abruptly that it seemed like an off-switch had been flicked. Instead, he stared disbelievingly at Avi’s prone form, lying several feet below the level at which they stood. “No,” he murmured. “No, no, no!”

 

“Kev, it’ll be okay,” Kirstie ventured.

 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he replied, looking at the rest of the group with accusation shining in his otherwise empty eyes. “I needed to say goodbye,”

 

“Kev, Avi passed out in Scott’s arms and he could have come back and killed him any second!” Kirstie exclaimed. “I’m sorry, but we did what we had to, and now we need to bury him and get the hell out of here. It’s a miracle a horde hasn’t come across us already with the distinct lack of luck that we’re experiencing today,”

 

“Okay, guys,” Scott spoke up. “Let’s do this.” His footfalls seemed to echo in their minds as he walked over to the open grave. They were all wearing their backpacks, due to learning -long ago- to always be prepared for worst-case scenarios such as ditching their vehicle. From his, Scott pulled a small rectangular box. Mitch, by then at his side, saw through the transparent plastic of the box’s top. Inside lay a pen, an expensive one by the looks of it, if they were to still judge the worth of things with monetary standards of old. “I was going to give it to him for his birthday in a couple of weeks,” he explained, and dropped it into the grave. The box came to rest by the side of Avi’s left thigh.

 

Suddenly inspired by Scott’s gesture, Mitch hesitated slightly, then reached down and unclasped the anklet, leaning over the hole in the ground to place it in one of his friend’s dead hands. Kirstie seemed to be fighting with herself internally over the decision before doing so, but she pulled off her friendship bracelet, leaving it in his other hand. Kevin, who had only just stood up, produced a guitar pick from somewhere in the depths of his rucksack, letting it fall from one open hand onto Avi’s chest.

 

And then, as quickly as was possible, they filled his grave, soil obscuring their friend’s features until he was gone completely. “Goodbye,” one of them muttered, trying to keep some form of control over their voice and failing.            

 

They walked away, knowing that his fate mirrored theirs, knowing that they would die soon enough. Earth had become a barren, broken world, and there was no surviving in such circumstances as those in which they found themselves; they were insurmountable.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

 

 


End file.
